Short story: Never Mess with a Willow
Never mess with a Willow
Beep. Beep.
The heart monitor's monotonous tone echoed throughout the dark corridor. The only lights on were in the one office, and the room where the patient lay eerily still.
Two men came out of the office and walked into the room with the patient. The one in front spoke first, clearing his throat loudly. A gruff, scratchy voice followed - he was very clearly the older of the two.
“I believe it is time for us to pull the plug. There is nothing left that we could do to help.”
He looked uncomfortably at the patient, his eyes showing a tinge of what looked like pity.
"The longer we wait, the longer we are simply prolonging the inevitable”.
There was no reply for a long while.
Abruptly, the younger man spoke up, cutting through the thick, heavy silence.
“What about the final vial? It could work.”
They both turned to look at a metal briefcase that was on the table next to the patient's bed. The first man shook his head.
“No. We cannot waste that on him - it is far too valuable. The fortune we could make with that thing alone is worth more than keeping him alive.”
“But what if it works on him? He could make more of this stuff after all. What do we have to lose? We have no idea of how to make more of what's in that vial anyway, what is the loss?”
The older man scratched his chin slowly and thought for a moment.
“Very well. We might as well see what it can do - who knows? He might wake... But I doubt it. Two years we have been on this. That briefcase was full when we started. Now, there's only one left.” He stood still in thought again. “But as you said, what do we have to lose?”
The younger man went over to the briefcase and opened it. Inside, there was foam with gaps in between to hold vials - but they were all empty. Except one.
He gingerly held the final vial, taking it out of the briefcase and putting it on the table as if it were to shatter any second. He took the empty one that was connected to the patient and unscrewed it, putting the empty vial carelessly on the same table. Ever so slowly, he put the new vial in its place, giving it a light tap to make sure it was connected, and hurriedly closed the briefcase.
“Right, that is that then,” he said with a sigh of relief. “To be honest, I’m ready to move on. Being this guy’s babysitter has been boring.”
Both men walked out to the corridor and stood just outside the patient's room. The older man put out his hand for the younger man, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“It has been both a privilege and a pleasure working with you here.”
“The same to you.”
A firm handshake followed.
The younger man turned back to see the patient's bed – something was bothering him. He started in surprise, then maintained his neutral expression, somewhat embarrassed. He had thought he heard something, but he couldn’t see anything - it was probably nothing. Yet still, he turned back.
“Is there a problem?” the older man asked.
“Probably nothing,” he muttered. “Just heard a noise”.
The moment he had finished speaking, there was a loud and fast noise that cut through the air – almost deafening.
A loud, continuous beep.
It was coming from the heart monitor of the patient.
He ran in to see what the problem was, furiously pulling up the sheets. To his utter horror and despair, he found that there was no man in the bed. Panicking, and breathing heavily, he turned the heart monitor off.
Where on earth was the patient?
He ran back into the corridor to find his associate. As soon as he had set foot in the corridor, he saw a pool of dark, red blood trickling on the marble floor.
His associate was lying there – dead.
The patient had woken up and was certainly not happy. He looked left and right for a sign of the man but could not see him. Struggling to maintain calm, he decided to head towards the door. He started with a hurried walk which then turned swiftly into a rapid run. Panting, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and dialled 999. He winced upon hearing the dial tone echoing down the corridor - until it finally picked up.
But a second too late.
He heard a noise behind him which sounded like another person running towards him.
“Hello? This is Westwood Hospital, floor 7 - we need immediate assistance now! My associate is dead, and I have a rogue patient who is going to -”
But before he could finish his statement, he felt a sharp pain down his back and collapsed to the ground. His phone clattered noisily next to him.
Helpless, he turned to see the patient thundering towards him, with an expression so sinister and evil he froze on the spot. He tried to think of something to do - and then it all went black.
The following morning, it made the front page of all the papers. One landed on the desk of police chief James Watson, the headline showing a photo of the patient's room from the previous evening. The glass was covered in red writing, and it read:
“Never mess with a Willow.”
James threw the newspaper down on his desk, rubbing his temples as he did so.
Willow was back. And it looked like he had only one thing on his mind.
Revenge.
Ewan Jones, Year 12
Beep. Beep.
The heart monitor's monotonous tone echoed throughout the dark corridor. The only lights on were in the one office, and the room where the patient lay eerily still.
Two men came out of the office and walked into the room with the patient. The one in front spoke first, clearing his throat loudly. A gruff, scratchy voice followed - he was very clearly the older of the two.
“I believe it is time for us to pull the plug. There is nothing left that we could do to help.”
He looked uncomfortably at the patient, his eyes showing a tinge of what looked like pity.
"The longer we wait, the longer we are simply prolonging the inevitable”.
There was no reply for a long while.
Abruptly, the younger man spoke up, cutting through the thick, heavy silence.
“What about the final vial? It could work.”
They both turned to look at a metal briefcase that was on the table next to the patient's bed. The first man shook his head.
“No. We cannot waste that on him - it is far too valuable. The fortune we could make with that thing alone is worth more than keeping him alive.”
“But what if it works on him? He could make more of this stuff after all. What do we have to lose? We have no idea of how to make more of what's in that vial anyway, what is the loss?”
The older man scratched his chin slowly and thought for a moment.
“Very well. We might as well see what it can do - who knows? He might wake... But I doubt it. Two years we have been on this. That briefcase was full when we started. Now, there's only one left.” He stood still in thought again. “But as you said, what do we have to lose?”
The younger man went over to the briefcase and opened it. Inside, there was foam with gaps in between to hold vials - but they were all empty. Except one.
He gingerly held the final vial, taking it out of the briefcase and putting it on the table as if it were to shatter any second. He took the empty one that was connected to the patient and unscrewed it, putting the empty vial carelessly on the same table. Ever so slowly, he put the new vial in its place, giving it a light tap to make sure it was connected, and hurriedly closed the briefcase.
“Right, that is that then,” he said with a sigh of relief. “To be honest, I’m ready to move on. Being this guy’s babysitter has been boring.”
Both men walked out to the corridor and stood just outside the patient's room. The older man put out his hand for the younger man, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“It has been both a privilege and a pleasure working with you here.”
“The same to you.”
A firm handshake followed.
The younger man turned back to see the patient's bed – something was bothering him. He started in surprise, then maintained his neutral expression, somewhat embarrassed. He had thought he heard something, but he couldn’t see anything - it was probably nothing. Yet still, he turned back.
“Is there a problem?” the older man asked.
“Probably nothing,” he muttered. “Just heard a noise”.
The moment he had finished speaking, there was a loud and fast noise that cut through the air – almost deafening.
A loud, continuous beep.
It was coming from the heart monitor of the patient.
He ran in to see what the problem was, furiously pulling up the sheets. To his utter horror and despair, he found that there was no man in the bed. Panicking, and breathing heavily, he turned the heart monitor off.
Where on earth was the patient?
He ran back into the corridor to find his associate. As soon as he had set foot in the corridor, he saw a pool of dark, red blood trickling on the marble floor.
His associate was lying there – dead.
The patient had woken up and was certainly not happy. He looked left and right for a sign of the man but could not see him. Struggling to maintain calm, he decided to head towards the door. He started with a hurried walk which then turned swiftly into a rapid run. Panting, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and dialled 999. He winced upon hearing the dial tone echoing down the corridor - until it finally picked up.
But a second too late.
He heard a noise behind him which sounded like another person running towards him.
“Hello? This is Westwood Hospital, floor 7 - we need immediate assistance now! My associate is dead, and I have a rogue patient who is going to -”
But before he could finish his statement, he felt a sharp pain down his back and collapsed to the ground. His phone clattered noisily next to him.
Helpless, he turned to see the patient thundering towards him, with an expression so sinister and evil he froze on the spot. He tried to think of something to do - and then it all went black.
The following morning, it made the front page of all the papers. One landed on the desk of police chief James Watson, the headline showing a photo of the patient's room from the previous evening. The glass was covered in red writing, and it read:
“Never mess with a Willow.”
James threw the newspaper down on his desk, rubbing his temples as he did so.
Willow was back. And it looked like he had only one thing on his mind.
Revenge.
Ewan Jones, Year 12